


If You Let Me Pump My H+ Ions Into Your Intermembrane Space, It Would Induce a Massive Conformational Change in My F1 Complex

by Newtavore



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blow Jobs, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, really bad pickup lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/pseuds/Newtavore
Summary: He’s a lot better at kissing than he used to be, though you suppose having a robotic AI with access to every guide on the internet and a body to teach him with has got to fuck with the learning curve in his favor.





	If You Let Me Pump My H+ Ions Into Your Intermembrane Space, It Would Induce a Massive Conformational Change in My F1 Complex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icey/gifts).



> I hope you like it!!!

“Let's convert our potential energy to kinetic energy.”

 

Your head jerks up; Hal is staring at you with unblinking red eyes, the soft glow from his orbital cameras lighting up the pale skin of his face a delicate pink. His mouth is a smooth, straight line, face neutral, and when you turn to look at Dirk it’s like being in front of two bookends- he’s exactly the same, expressionless as a mannequin, blank and bored.

 

“What.”

 

“I said, are you a carbon sample because I want to date you.”

 

Dirk this time. They speak for each other more often than not, one of them answering a question directed towards the other and vis-versa; it’s enough to drive you a little nuts but you’d thought it was better than them trying to smother each other with pillows and throwing each other off the roof.

 

You thought wrong. You take it back. You’d much rather them try to kill each other than have them both ganging up on you like this.

 

“What the fuck, dude,” and yeah maybe your voice is pitched up just a little, maybe your face is a bit red, but you would sooner die than admit it. You are one cool son of a bitch and shitty pickup lines are not the way to your heart.

 

(Yes they are.)

 

“I wish I was your calculus homework, because then I'd be hard and you'd be doing me on your desk,” Hal says, still straight-faced, bracing his elbow on said desk so he can rest his chin in the palm of his hand; his eyes sweep you up and down in a way that’s blatantly obvious and you try your best to avoid choking on your own spit because _jesus fuck Hal that wasn’t even remotely subtle_.

 

You close your laptop. Clearly this is going to require most, if not all of your attention.

 

“Stop it.”

 

Dirk just shrugs, a silent _like I can control him, dude_ ; you kind of want to strangle him, but only a little bit.

 

“If I were sin2x and you were cos2x , together we'd be one,” is all he says. You take it back again. You want to strangle him a lot.

 

“Don’t y’all have anything better to do?” and this time Hal shrugs, the motion of his shoulders a mirror-image of Dirk’s, the exact same movement except reversed; they both lean back in their chairs at the same time and it’s almost like they’re both robots for a moment, eerily synchronized. If you were a lesser man, you’d be forced to admit it’s pretty fucking hot.

 

As it is, though- right now you’re just mildly irritated. Just a little annoyed. Just very, minimally, ever so slightly frustrated.

 

Just a bit.

 

“I'd like to instantiate your objects, and access their member variables,” and Hal is up off the chair now, gesturing elegantly with his hands as words that make precisely zero sense to you spew out of his stupid pretty mouth. Dirk nods along with him like everything Hal is saying isn’t some bullshit engineer’s idea of a hot pickup line- or maybe nodding along like it is, considering the clear lack of taste being displayed by both of them right now. And you’d know a thing or two about taste, right.

 

“Okay I didn’t even understand like a quarter of that, what the fuck.”

 

Hal’s hand is cool on your shoulder, precisely two degrees below average human body temperature; you know this from long nights spent keeping Dirk company while he built Hal a suitable body from scratch with all this new world had to offer, doing his best to keep the AI from self-destructing inside the battered remains of his shades. You know a bunch of other stuff about Hal too- how his skin is a soft, supple silicon-based self-healing polymer stretched across a steel and microlattice frame, how if Dirk couldn’t literally get Roxy to create shit out of thin air one hand alone would cost more than all the money in Bill Gates’ coffers, how he has synthesized nerve endings across the entire surface of his body and how Dirk didn’t sleep for five days straight while individually placing each and every one.

 

None of that matters right now, though- not the way his hand feels smoothing itself down your back, not the way his pointy chin sort of digs into your shoulder as he slides his arms around your waist, not the way Dirk starts to shift out of his chair to take his own mirror-image steps across the room towards you; none of it matters because you’re still going to smother him with a pillow.

 

You’re not quite sure how yet, since he doesn’t really need to breathe, but you’re sure you can find a way.

 

“You're so hot you denature my proteins,” Dirk says, and his tone of voice would be sultry if it wasn’t for the sheer bullshittery he’s coughing up right into your face; you shift, but Hal’s hands are gripping your wrists behind your back and Dirk’s hands are on your face and his lips are suddenly mere inches from yours, and he’s got the dumbest, smuggest expression curling up the corners of his mouth and you’re moments away from just headbutting him in the nose.

 

“If y’all are expecting to get laid tonight, I can pretty much guarantee it ain’t happenin’,” you mutter, but all Dirk does is laugh and push his lips against yours.

 

He’s a lot better at kissing than he used to be, though you suppose having a robotic AI with access to every guide on the internet and a body to teach him with has got to fuck with the learning curve in his favor; his hands cup your cheeks and his palms are warm and Hal is a contrasting cool against your back, pleased humming in stereo echoing in your ears as Dirk’s tongue presses into your mouth. Kissing him still stirs up the same awkward teenager thrills, your arms twitching as you try to move your hands to grab him, to hold him closer; Hal’s got you well in hand though, keeping you trapped till Dirk pulls away and you’re left leaning into nothing as he ducks his head down to kiss at your throat.

 

“I think my binomial just expanded,” Hal mumbles, chest hitching in a silent laugh as he tips his head to the side to mouth at the other half of your throat; his hips grind forward and _yeah_ , you’d definitely call that expanding.

 

“You’re both fired. Forever. Never talk to me or my son ever again,” and it’s perhaps a little more breathless than you’d like, a little more whimpery, but you think you get the point across.

Well. Not really, since neither of them actually leave to pack their desks and get out of your house.

 

“Does that mean you don’t want me to suck you off?”

 

Dirk’s lips move against your collarbone, breath ghosting out over your skin as he speaks; your head tips back to rest on Hal’s shoulder because if you keep looking at them, you’re pretty sure you’re gonna kick one.

 

“Let’s not be hasty now,” you say instead, talking to the ceiling, which, as far as you remember, has done nothing to annoy you lately, “Did I say anything about not wanting a dick-sucking? No, I just said you were fired. And not to talk to me. Dick sucking requires neither a job nor words. In fact, if your mouth is full then you can’t say stupid shit anymore-”

 

Dirk’s hands slide up your shirt and his fingers tweak a nipple, your words dying off into a stuttered little hitch of breath; Hal’s knee slides between your legs and you’re forced to spread your thighs apart, teeth digging into your lower lip as your shirt is shoved up so Dirk can lick, suck, and bite marks all over your chest. And the last ones had _just_ faded, too- you won’t be swimming without a shirt on for another week at least. Ugh.

 

“Let's discover our coefficient of friction,” Hal says, and you can _hear_ the smile in his voice, can feel it in the mouth still sucking hickies up all over your throat; he grinds his knee up between your legs and the whine that spills from your throat is _sinful_. You’re too hard to deny now, worked up and eager and it’s all their fault and somehow, someday, you will find a way to get back at them for this. It just might- take a lot of planning. Later.

 

Definitely later, after you get off.

 

Hal shifts and both of your wrists are caught in one of his hands, the other feeling up your ass with all the subtlety of a fucking train; Dirk is probably in the process of trying to spell his name on your chest with hickies, because he’s a possessive shit and it would definitely be something he’d do and nothing you’d ever accuse him of out loud just in case it gave him ideas.

 

“Are we going to do this right here? Standing up? Because let me tell you I ain’t no acrobat, I will fall flat on my ass if you try to get me to do some kinda fancy bullshit-”

 

“You say that as if I can’t carry your weight times a thousand,” Hal says- _scoffs_ , even. What a showboat. So full of himself. One of these days you’re going to get Dirk to make Hal-proof restraints and _then_ he’ll get his dues, but right now you’re hard, you’re empty, and you really, really wanna get fucked.

 

Like, embarrassingly bad.

 

 _Really_ bad.

 

“Then get on with it,” is all you say in reply but unfortunately the hitch of your voice, the sharpness of your tone, it’s all damning evidence in the case against Dave Strider; you squirm, but Dirk’s hands are holding your hips still as he drops to his knees in front of you, and your pants are quite suddenly around your ankles and this is _ridiculous as fuck_ and _neither of them seem to care_ . You’re standing out in the middle of the goddamn workshop surrounded by parts and pieces and half-dismantled robots and your pants are on the floor and Dirk’s got his face pressed against your boxers like he can suck you _through_ the cloth and jesus fuck, your cheeks cannot get any redder.

 

“We've been differentiating for too long, lets sum it up and integrate.”

 

No, okay, they can get redder. You are officially dead.

 

Hal tugs down your boxers and you’re almost too busy groaning to notice, but nothing- not even the absolute disgust currently coursing through you- is enough to distract you from the warm, wet heat of Dirk’s mouth swallowing up half your cock in one smooth motion.

 

He’s a lot better at this now too, but you’re polite enough to keep that to yourself.

 

“Fuck,” you say instead, because that’s so much more polite, right- Hal’s hand slides over your ass and then there’s a finger _in_ your ass and you shudder, leaning against him heavily as your knees shake. The lube is cold and his hands are cold and two, three fingers are _definitely_ cold and it’s such a wild contrast from the burning stretch and Dirk’s heat, hot mouth and hot palms and hot, heavy gaze staring straight up at you as he bobs his head.

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” you repeat, and Hal just laughs, letting go of your wrists so he can fiddle with his own pants, and his voice is raspy with simulated lust as he replies _in a minute Dave_.

 

His cock is almost an exact replica of Dirk’s- slightly smaller, because Dirk is petty like that, curved a bit to the right instead of the left, and there are small ridges all along the shaft that feel fucking _fantastic_ when they slide into you slow and steady. Your hands shake as they land on Dirk’s head, gripping soft blond hair between your fingers as Hal presses deeper inside you and it’s _mindnumbingly good_ , the way he fills you up so perfectly, the way Dirk’s mouth feels around you, the way it’s all mixing up in a massive goddamn hurricane of _yesyesyes_ that makes your mouth twist up and your eyes fall shut. They can fucking _wreck_ you so well--

 

Hal is muttering in your ear, a hand gripping your hair as his arm braces tight around your chest, holding you against him as he ruts his hips forward- soft coos of your name, praise, things you are not even remotely capable of understanding at the moment because you are riding high on a wave of good feelings and there is no way you’re risking it all by listening to more shitty science jokes, even on accident. You’re blocking it out. Not even going to chance it; instead you stare down at Dirk and watch his face flush, watch him touch himself, teeth biting hard at your lip to stifle your whines and whimpers so you can hear the quiet, muffled sounds of his own pleasure as he gets himself off. He’s so fucking _pretty_ like this- so fucking pretty, god Dirk-

 

“So pretty, yeah- _c’mon, fuck-_ you can take a little more, c’mon baby-”

 

He moans and you moan and Hal lets out a buzzy little robotic noise that might be a moan, Dirk’s head pressing forward to take the last few inches; his throat works tight around you as he grips at your hips, and you’re done.

 

You never can last very long when it’s all three of you together, and this is no exception. You spill into Dirk’s mouth with a loud cry, shivering as he swallows around your cock, tongue hot and wet against your shaft as he pulls his head back enough to tease you through your orgasm; Hal’s no better, speeding up rather than slowing down, holding you tight against him and keeping you trapped between him and Dirk as you shake your way through climax. You _know_ it’s got nothing to do with chasing his own orgasm- the asshole can trigger that whenever he damn well pleases.

 

Dirk’s another story, though- he pulls back, licks at your cock, then rests his head against your hip as he jacks himself off, breathless and whining softly. Your hand combs shakily through his hair and you’re babbling out stupid shit, dumb encouragements and praise and whatever comes to mind, your filter completely obliterated as Hal goes still against you and you’re suddenly _full_ of the simulated sticky garbage he’s got in place of cum.

 

Dirk’s the last, but it really doesn’t take much; you pull his hair roughly, sweettalk him a bit, and he’s done, gasping against your hip as he cums all over his hand with a breathy little whimper.

 

And then there’s blessed silence, all three of you- well, two of you catching your breath and Hal recovering from the massive cascading system overload that is his version of an orgasm; you slump against the android and let your head loll as your hand lazily combs through Dirk’s hair, and fuck, this is perfect. You feel great. Everything is fantastic, the world is roses and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, and you feel fucking great. Fuck, you love these idiots.

 

“...You must be a cell, cause my DNA is all in you.”

 

Never mind. You’re going to kill both of them.


End file.
